


Heaven for a Moment in Time

by Salamander



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, M/M, Renegade Angels: Dean/Castiel fic exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 05:47:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salamander/pseuds/Salamander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You must take it, Dean. I've searched and searched, but there is no other way." Slight AR, diverging in one simple direction from the Angel Room in 4.22 - Lucifer Rising. What if Dean drank Castiel's blood?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heaven for a Moment in Time

Castiel’s return was, as far as things went, pretty surprising. Dean didn’t expect him to come back at all, let alone so quickly. Saying that though, he’d never really been sure how long it took Cas to get from place to place when he was doing that disappearing act of his. For all Dean knew, it could take just a little less time than a car journey - there could be wind currents or birds flying or anything.

Dean’s Castiel-sense was getting more and more honed, but even he didn’t hear anything this time - Castiel just hurtled out of nowhere. Dean’s burger went flying, and before he could protest, he was being held against a wall with an iron-grip, Castiel’s hand across his mouth and his face so close their noses could have touched. 

Dean resisted a wild urge to touch one of those fingers with his tongue. Castiel’s stare bored into him and then flicked away, and down, to the knife clasped in his hand. He still said nothing, perhaps fearing that the walls have ears. 

Castiel traced a line, no-nonsense, across his forearm. The blood welled up almost eagerly, and he proffered his arm to Dean. 

“You must take it, Dean,” he whispered, finally breaking the silence. “I’ve searched and searched, but there is no other way.” 

“Whoa. Whoa just one minute. You’re not telling me that I’ve gotta _drink your blood_? I’m not cool with that!” 

“You won’t become a demon, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“That is _not_ what I’m worried about. Drinking blood is so…skeevy, man. Look where it got Gordon.” Dean ignored Castiel's brief look of confusion, then continued. “Anyway, I'm not going all Anne Rice.” 

“It wasn’t long ago when you swore to do whatever I, and my brothers, asked of you, Dean.” Castiel’s voice held the old familiar edge of steel, and Dean shifted his feet almost subconsciously. Bobby was right - he _was_ the angels’ bitch. But Castiel was disobeying by even being there, and maybe being _Castiel’s_ bitch wouldn’t be that bad. Trust went both ways, and if Castiel trusted him enough to disobey _God_ , hell, even Dean couldn’t argue in the face of that. 

“I guess we don’t have time to explain why I need to do this?” Dean sighed. 

“I’m afraid not,” Castiel held out his arm once more. “I wouldn’t ask this of you under any other circumstance, Dean.” 

“Let’s get it over with, then.” Dean dropped to his knees and took Castiel’s arm in his hands. He didn’t think he’d ever find himself on his knees in front of another man, but here he was, having a chick flick moment with Cas’ hand while Sam was off breaking the final Seal and bringing freakin’ Apocalypse down on everyone’s heads. “Just don’t expect me to ask you to marry me,” he snorted, in an attempt to hide his uneasiness. 

In a way, it was sort of ironic that here he was, albeit not-quite-willing, about to drink someone’s blood - an angel’s blood, no less - when he’d been wailing on Sammy for the very same thing for so long. Dean supposed that the owner of the blood made a difference, but that still tasted like making excuses. Castiel was trustworthy, though - he’d shown that when he helped Dean with Lilith and Sam - no matter what heavenly crap those sons of bitches had forced back into him. 

He ducked his head and ran his tongue tentatively across the cut. The blood-tang was metallic - he’d tasted enough of his own blood in the past to expect this - and even the first drop alone must have had an effect, because Dean felt different, somehow, as he raised his eyes to regard Castiel; hesitant, but somehow eager. He wanted more. 

He took a deep breath, ignoring every clamoring thought in his head yelling at him to _stop, stop now_ , and fastened his mouth around the neat-edged cut. He felt Castiel’s arm twitch as the blood left his body, and Dean imagined that the angel had gone paler, though he could not see. Dean’s eyes fluttered, then closed, and a rush of _something_ took hold of his body, diverting his attention fully and completely to the blood. 

He couldn’t stop to worry about how much he was taking; couldn’t pause to make sure Castiel was alright; couldn’t wonder how he looked, drinking blood like god damned Dracula, because it felt right, somehow, and sweet, and meant to be - chick flick moments be damned. The thought flashed into his mind that if tasting Castiel’s blood felt this good, imagine what the rest of him would be like, but Dean shut down that thought. Clamped it down firm and swift, before he got any more ideas that would damn him to Hell and further. 

Castiel’s legs buckled and he lurched forwards. Only the fact that Dean was on his knees in front of him saved him from hitting the floor face first. His arm was wrenched from Dean’s lips along with a shallow moan as the blood supply was cut off. Cas fell to his knees with a thud and rested his forehead on Dean’s shoulder. His breathing was shallow and his face was white. 

“Dude,” Dean said, shakily. “I can feel your sweaty head through my shirt.” 

Castiel made a choked noise that could have been a laugh. “How are you feeling?” 

“Peachy, considering I probably just drank half your blood supply. How are _you_ feeling?” 

“Well enough. We don’t-” 

“Let me guess. We don’t have the time?” 

“Zachariah could show up at any moment. As soon as he realizes what’s going on, he’ll be here.” 

“I don’t feel any different, Cas. Are you sure it worked?” 

“Oh, yes. I can feel you,” he pressed his right hand to his chest. The blood was slowly rushing back to his face, and he began to look more like his normal self, only slightly more harassed-looking. 

“Right,” Dean said. “That was weird. So, what now?” He stood up, then reached down and helped Castiel to his feet. “We go storm the castle and save the day?” 

“In a manner of speaking.” Castiel rubbed a touch of dried blood from his arm. 

“No, it’s never that easy, is it?” 

“We should go now, before-” 

“Before what, Castiel? Before I ruin your carefully planned rebellion?” Zachariah reclined on a chair in one corner, an ankle slung casually over his other leg. He held the same faint, infuriating smile, and Dean wanted nothing more than to take the knife and ram it through his stupid chest. 

Dean heard Castiel’s intake of breath on his right, then felt a harsh slap as his palm connected with Dean’s forehead, then that familiar insistent tug as they disappeared from the freaky angel Big Brother House. 

Their landing was less than enjoyable. Castiel managed to get half of his trenchcoat wrapped around Dean’s legs, and they crumpled to the ground in an undignified heap. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that.” Dean rubbed his head, which had connected rather roughly with the stone floor of St Mary’s Convent, Ilchester. Looking around, Dean noted that they were in a corridor, the end of which led to a room whose great wooden doors were half open. Voices were coming from within. “Where are we?” 

“Chuck told me where to go. A convent. Our brother Lucifer has nothing if not a sense of humor.” Castiel stood up and straightened his trenchcoat. “I can hear voices,” he said. 

“It’s probably that bitch Ruby,” Dean said. He glared towards the open door and was startled to feel something within him welling up, as if it were reacting to his emotions. “Whoa,” he said. 

Castiel turned, a look of concern on his face. “Are you alright?” 

“Uh-huh. Well, I think so. How long d’ya think this holy adrenaline shot will last, anyway?” 

Castiel shifted from one foot to another, a movement so rare in him that Dean couldn’t help but stare. “We’ve never really experimented with this treatment before…” he trailed off. 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “So what you mean is that you have no earthly idea what this blood will do to me.” 

“That’s about the gist of it.” Castiel at least had the good grace to look apologetic. 

“Well, I’ve never been one for reading instruction manuals anyway. Let’s make it up as we go along, eh?” Dean fixed his eyes on the open door. They were far enough away that their low whispers wouldn’t be heard, but his hunting-sharpened ears managed to pick up Sam’s bass, a slightly higher pitch that he could only assume was Ruby, and, silkily intertwined with the two, a third. Lilith. Even thinking her name got his blood boiling, and once again, Dean was shocked to find something inside him reacting to this rage. 

Castiel laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder, and they stood side by side in the corridor. Dean’s head thrummed with anticipation and his blood, Castiel’s blood, sang with the promise of confrontation. Cas pressed the demon-forged knife into Dean’s hand, and he wrapped gun-calloused fingers around it, drinking in its potent strength and the solid presence of an angel of the Lord at his side. 

They advanced down the corridor, no words needing to be spoken between them. They had an unspoken connection - forged in the heat of Hell at Dean’s shoulder, and reinforced by the angelic blood now humming through his veins. Dean could almost feel the promise of wings at his shoulders, brushing and twisting and mingling with Castiel’s as they padded towards Armageddon itself. Brothers - no, more than brothers. Brothers-in-arms. Soldiers of the Lord. 

Dean felt the weight of unrealized fate suddenly lifted, and he squared his shoulders - felt Castiel do the same at his right - as the door swung closed with a wooden groan, cajoled by demonic power. 

No words were said. Castiel lifted his left arm, Dean mirrored with his right, and the door blasted outwards, nothing but splinters framing their entrance. 

“Sammy,” Dean said. His voice was firm with the power he felt in his veins; his resolve unyielding with Castiel at his side. 

Ruby turned, a smile dancing on her lips. Sam remained, back towards Dean, staring at the altar still laid out with candles and a golden chalice. The stone of the altar was grey and uniform; it’s only distinguishing feature a slender series of patterns around its sides. And the demon slumped in front of it. 

Three things happened at once. Dean started forward, a cry of outrage on his lips. Sammy turned to Dean, a curious expression of mingled shock and triumph. And Ruby raised her arms, did a twirl and laughed, the sound breaking the stunned silence that had fallen over the convent. 

Lilith toppled sideways, as if invisible bonds were suddenly cut, and her head hit the stone floor with a sickening crack. Ruby’s smile grew broader as a trickle of blood slid from Lilith’s blank eyes. She turned to Dean and Castiel and outstretched her arms as if welcoming them to a birthday party. “You’re a mite too late, boys.” Her voice was pure, unfettered glee and her eyes danced with mischief. “I knew my Sammy could do it,” she crowed, slinging a comradely arm about Sam’s slumped shoulders. 

Dean gripped the knife so tight that his knuckles whitened. He could feel the blood roiling inside him, straining to get at the demon bitch who’d manipulated his Sammy all this time. He felt Castiel gripping his shoulder, and leaned in to catch the whispered words he breathed in Dean’s ear. 

“Look at the blood, Dean.” Castiel sounded shell-shocked, as if he hadn’t ever really expected Ruby and Sam to succeed in their plan. As if this, now, was the moment when his betrayal by Zachariah and all his other brothers was finally made crystal clear to him. “We were too late,” he said, simply. “They always meant for Lucifer to rise…” 

“You would always have been too late, angel,” Ruby sneered. “You don’t seriously think I’d have let you ruin this for me, do you? All this time priming Sammy, preparing him for this? He slaughtered Lilith ten minutes ago. I totally pulled an Ozymandias on you and your precious Dean here, and neither of you had a clue! 

Sam looked at Ruby, her arm still over his shoulder, as if a shroud had been lifted from his eyes and he could see clearly for the first time since she danced death into his life. His eyes shot to Dean’s, and, for the second time that day, two people acted without needing words to guide them. 

He yanked her arms around behind her back and Dean felt the now-familiar rush as his powers surfaced. He didn’t need to glance sideways to know that Castiel was calling upon his own - he could feel it in his gut and in his heart. Their joint blood-linked ability slammed into Ruby and she writhed in Sam’s arms like a snake caught in a noose. Her head flipped from side to side, and she screamed her pain and fury at Dean and Castiel so loud Sam feared his eardrums would burst. Black smoke roiled from her mouth and eyes, and lightning crackled down her spine. 

And then she was silent. Her abandoned body went limp, and Sam dropped her like a sack of potatoes. He rubbed his hands together almost unconsciously, as if trying to erase her taint from them. He stepped towards Dean, his mouth open in supplication, but before he could reach his brother, Dean crumpled to the ground. His face was as white as salt, and Sam rushed to his side in an instant. He crouched down at Dean’s side and almost crunched heads with Castiel, who was bent over worriedly opposite him. 

“What the hell did you two do?” he demanded, his voice low and slightly hoarse. 

“There’s no time to explain,” Castiel muttered distractedly. He placed two fingers on Dean’s neck, checking for a pulse. It was there, albeit sluggish. He reached over and gently pried the knife from Dean’s prone fingers. Sam began to protest, or to ask questions, but Castiel held up a finger for silence. “He needs more,” he said, so quiet that Sam barely caught the words. 

“Needs more what?” Sam’s eyes widened at the sight of Castiel pressing the knife with precision into the major vein of his wrist. He slid the tip deeper, and towards his palm, cupping his fingers as if to make a chalice. He tilted his head on one side and gave Sam a troubled glance, then he brought his rubied hand to his lips and took a draught. Holding the blood within the confines of his lips, he bent to Dean’s slightly parted lips. Closing his eyes, he ignored Sam’s stuttered protests and parted his own lips, pressing them to Dean’s as he imagined a kiss would be performed. The blood flowed from his mouth into Dean’s, and he took another mouthful from his cupped hand, and did the same again, and again, until Dean came around, spluttering and gasping with blood smeared across his lips and falling down his chin and the taste of Castiel in his mouth and his nostrils. He sat upright, powered by the immediate rush in his body as it adjusted to the angel blood. 

Dean stared at Castiel, almost oblivious to Sam’s proximity, and Sam’s reassuring hand on his shoulder and Sam’s look of shock when his older brother wound his fingers into the angel’s trenchcoat and kissed him like his life depended on it. 

Sam looked away quickly, suddenly embarrassed, although he didn’t know why. He’d seen Dean kiss enough women in their lives for it to be usual practice, but seeing him kiss Castiel was… different somehow. 

He sat back, butt on the chill stones of the floor, and just happened to glance to his left, where Ruby had fallen and Lilith had toppled. Where an incredibly neat symbol was drawing itself calmly and inexorably in Lilith’s blood. 

Its spindly lines almost spiraled towards the center, where the blood started to pool ominously. 

“Uh, guys?” Sam said, shaking Dean’s shoulder. “I don’t mean to interrupt your Disney moment or anything, but I think we might have a guest…” 

Dean and Castiel broke apart, their eyes drawn to the rapidly assembling blood-sigil. The knife clattered to the floor and Castiel had to catch himself with his hands as his body failed him suddenly - the blood-loss catching up with him. Dean put one hand over the top of Castiel’s and gave his white fingers a squeeze. 

“Will you help me with Cas, Sammy?” Dean gesticulated towards the doorway. “He won’t be much use in this state.” 

Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean - something in the timbre of his voice had altered - it was almost as if there was a second, slightly deeper voice speaking at precisely the same time. It gave Sam the willies, but he nodded his assent and grabbed under his left armpit. Together, he and Dean managed to get the now-unconscious Castiel over to the wall. They propped him up as best they could then turned to the impending threat. 

A blinding light shot from the center of the sigil like a beacon and Sam threw up an arm to shield his eyes. Dean stared into its heart, only mildly astonished that he could even manage such a feat without getting his retinas burned out. It was just the latest thing in the list of downright freaky angel crap he could do now, he guessed. 

Sam stepped back a pace as the light began to coalesce. Ribbons of flesh unraveled from nowhere, joining with sinews and marrow and bone - but possibly the most disturbing was the blood, which spiraled up from the sigil itself, surrounding the whole spectacle in a veil of scarlet. The brightness of the light was dimmed for a moment, splashing blood shadows all across the walls of St Mary’s, before the maelstrom took a different, more alarming turn. 

The blood shield spun inwards, and there was a sound like water rushing which filled Sam’s ears as if they were stuffed with cotton wool. Hot on the heels of the blood came miniscule threads that looked like cotton, wrapping themselves around the indistinct figure until, after a moment that felt like a slowed-down eternity in bullet time, Sam and Dean could make out a man, clad in a suit. 

The man was tall, but something about him made his height seem somehow impossible to gauge - he looked taller than Sam and shorter at the same time. His suit was a smoky grey color, perfectly tailored and impossibly shining, and his hair was tousled and of a blonde so pale it was almost white. The man was smiling, eerily, and his eyes glinted as hard as chips of opal - completely pearlescent, they absorbed the candlelight and flashed it out again in green and blue and purple, like oil-polluted water. 

He ran an inviting hand down his chest and outlined his hips, licking his lips obscenely. “Nice meat suit, if I do say so myself,” he said. “And what a welcome committee!” He spread his arms out wide and twirled in a leisurely circle. “Sammy!” Within the blink of an eye, he was stood next to Sam and wearing an almost literal ear to ear grin. “Little Sammy. What would I do without you, hm?” he leered, reaching out with one hand to caress Sam’s cheek, and then he was gone again, examining a wall sconce on the other side of the room. 

“I don’t suppose I need to introduce myself, do I?” He bent forward to admire the metal scrollwork on the sconce, and then he was leaning against the altar casually, exuding raw, unfettered power and the most direct, sensual and overpowering charisma that Sammy had ever felt. 

“Lucifer,” came Dean’s altered voice from Sam’s right. Sam didn’t think he’d ever get used to the double sound of that voice, and he sort of hoped he wouldn’t have to. 

Dean gripped the knife, which he had picked up from the floor where Castiel had dropped it, and Sam stepped back from his brother as he caught a ripple of something on the edge of his vision. 

Dean squared off straight in front of Lucifer, his eyes only able to focus on that most hated of enemies. He could feel the knife, so tiny in his hand against such a foe, but at the same time, he felt the angelic blood coursing through his veins and that blade became so much more than just a demon-forged knife. His ears were blocked to any sound other than Lucifer’s voice, drawling and rich, to any presence other than his, so steeped in charisma and temptation. Hatred made him oblivious to what was happening to his own body, and to Sam’s reaction - though he could still feel Castiel in his heart. 

Behind Dean but not behind him stood a shadowy figure, imposing but insubstantial, almost seeming to be an extension of the hunter. It stood about a meter taller than Dean himself, and stockier, and in its right hand it held a weapon greater than any Sam had ever seen. Where Dean held the knife, the figure wielded a flaming sword, and from its bulky shoulders sprang a pair of the darkest shadowed wings and Sam would have laughed at the cheesiness of it all except that he couldn’t, because his breath was stolen by its magnificence. 

Lucifer still lolled at the altar, leaning back on one elbow and smiling as broadly as if he was hitting on a waitress behind a sleazy bar. “You’re not a very friendly lot, are you?” He commented, lifting up one hand to run it lazily through his hair. “I mean, come on. I wait around thirty-odd years for my loyal minions to do their thing, create the ultimate demon-blooded warrior, blah blah, wait yet another twenty years for said ultimate warrior to do _his_ thing, finally get out of that not-so-metaphorical Hell-hole of a prison and then bam!” He clapped his hands sharply, jolting Castiel awake with a soft snort. “I’m surrounded by the corpses of said loyal minions and some bizarre, freakish half-angel half-human _thing_ ,” he waved an elaborate hand towards Dean, “is waiting for me, possibly jonesing for some sort of apocalyptic battle of good and evil or whatever.” 

Sam looked around sharply as Lucifer appeared next to Castiel, and crouched down on his haunches. Dean and his angel… shadow… whatever turned slowly, taking in Lucifer running his hand down Castiel’s face and tilting his chin and planting a delicate kiss on his lips. The flaming sword suddenly roared as if someone had thrown a canister of oil on it, and Dean took a grave step forward, no emotion showing on his face, but the shadow’s wings fluttered agitatedly, betraying what he was feeling. 

Lucifer chuckled - a strange, yet attractive sound - and stood up in one fluid motion. “Don’t get yourself worked up, angel-face. I don’t plan on sticking around so you can, you know, stick your huge burning sword into me.” He grinned a lop-sided, filthy grin at the pun. “You know what I mean. ‘Fraid I’m gonna have to love you and leave you. Humans,” he said to himself. “They’re always good for a laugh.” And then he was gone, with a rush of wind that nearly knocked Sam over. 

“I’m not sure whether I’m more terrified or relieved,” Sam said, scratching his head. “Although I think confused pretty much covers it.” He looked at Dean, still high on his angel mojo, and then at Castiel, slumped dazed against the stone wall of the convent. “I think we need to rest up. Dean, help me with Cas, he’s all spaced out.” Dean remained stock still, staring at Castiel like he was seeing him for the first time. “Dean!” Sam reached out his hand and shook Dean’s shoulder gently. 

Dean blinked, shook his head as if to clear it and then bent down to pick Castiel up, seemingly forgetting that he couldn’t usually pick up a fully grown man, no matter how unconscious he was. He turned to Sam, Castiel cradled in his arms like he was Dean’s bride and they were walking over the threshold for the first time. “Touch my shoulder,” he said, his voice resonating so much so that Sam did as he was asked with no questions. He made a startled noise as they were tugged into non-existence, and then back again in what seemed to be a motel bedroom. A single motel bedroom, with only one bed. 

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean just looked at him and his words melted into silence. And then Dean was gone, Castiel still in his arms like he weighed as little as a doll. 

“I’ll see you in the morning then,” Sam muttered to the empty room. He flopped down on the bed, utterly exhausted by the hellish day and trying desperately not to think about what his brother and Castiel might be doing wherever they were. 

Wherever they were happened to be a room directly opposite Sam’s, with a somewhat larger bed. By some stroke of good fortune, the rooms on either side were both empty, and by some stroke of Dean’s angelic powers, their room was contained within a bubble of soundlessness - like a soundproofed room for band practice. 

He laid Castiel down on the bed, and put the knife down on the small table next to it. The fire had gone out from the big-ass sword, and when the knife left his hand, the shadow disappeared as if it was never there. 

Cas watched Dean as he plucked dressings and antiseptic from mid-air. He held out his torn hand, watching in silence as Dean cleaned the blood from it, not even wincing when he pulled the bandages tight and tied them off with precision. 

Dean placed Castiel’s bandaged hand on the bed, then made a complex motion with his hand. With a flash of white light, his angelic other half was gone and Dean sagged forward, only Castiel’s quickly raised hand stopping him from head-butting the angel square in the chest. 

“That was intense,” Dean murmured. 

“I know,” said Castiel. “I could feel everything.” He placed his right hand on Dean’s shoulder, fitting it perfectly to the scar. 

“It is nice to get my body back though. It felt a bit Stepford Wives for a minute back there.” He laughed nervously. “That kiss though…” 

“It was good,” Castiel whispered. 

“Yeah.” Dean’s voice was hoarse and it trembled slightly with expectation. “Yeah it was.” He glanced at Castiel, who held his gaze with typical intensity. Dean leaned forward and brushed Castiel’s a splinter of wood off his shoulders, his thumb grazing Cas’ neck as he did. He was startled to hear a soft noise come from the angel’s lips, and he hesitantly placed his hand on the back of Castiel’s neck. 

Castiel made to shrug off his trenchcoat, but Dean stopped him. “Leave it on,” he breathed, voice husky with desire. Castiel tilted his head and Dean met his eyes, forthright. “I like the coat,” he said. “It’s… hell. It’s kind of sexy, alright?” He narrowed his eyes slightly, as if expecting to be laughed at, but Castiel’s brow just creased and his lips parted in a laugh. He pulled Dean close by the back of his head, just rough enough to remind him that he, Castiel, was as far from a woman as you could get. 

And then they were kissing, and Dean could feel for himself the differences. Stubble was the first thing, and the way their teeth clashed was another, and then he was too busy being deliciously distracted by the way that Cas was tugging insistently at his shirt, and fumbling with the buttons, and then giving up with an exasperated little sigh and just disappearing them with a wave of his hand. 

“Impatient,” growled Dean. He pushed Castiel down onto his back, holding their eye-contact as he unfastened the white shirt with practiced ease and maddening slowness. At some point, they must have lost their shoes, but Dean couldn’t remember when and he didn’t really care at this moment in time - not when he had Castiel laid out in front of him looking debauched. He ran his hands down Castiel’s chest, delighting in every twitch he elicited, in every little intake of breath, and in the way that, when his fingers brushed Cas’ thighs, the angel moaned so deliciously. 

Dean ran his hands over the strained material of Castiel’s pants and grinned when Cas finally broke their eye contact and threw his head back onto the pillow, giving Dean a great view of that strangely lickable neck. He turned his attention to Castiel’s pants, slowly unzipping and pulling them down his legs, moving his body down towards the bottom of the bed, where he dropped the pants down onto the floor. He ran his palms up the inside of Castiel’s legs, following them with a trail of kisses. Some part of his brain was noticing that his legs were hairy, but when it came to sex, Dean wasn’t overly fussy. Plus, Castiel was different. Dean could still feel their blood-link - his freaky shadow might have gone, but the blood still remained, filling his veins with angelic fire and echoing everything Cas felt back through into Dean. Which was going to make this interesting, to say the least. 

Castiel was framed by his trenchcoat, which was way sexier than it should be, and he shuddered in pleasure with every touch of Dean’s hands. On his knees, he straddled Cas and sucked and kissed and licked his way up that delicious chest, pausing to tease first the left and then the right nipple with his teeth. He felt Castiel’s answering growl reverberating through his chest. Dean planted his hands on either side of Castiel’s head and bent down to kiss him, hard. He could feel his erection straining against his jeans, and his breathing grew ragged as Castiel’s hand worked at unzipping and then banishing the offending garments. 

Dean moaned into Castiel’s mouth as the angel stroked his cock, pressing himself harder against him, desperate for more friction, more contact. 

Cas smiled against Dean’s rough kisses. “Who’s impatient now?” he murmured, arching his back to give Dean the contact he craved. Dean made a muffled sound in response, any sense drowned out in Castiel’s mouth and in their kisses. 

Castiel pulled his head back and drank in the sight of Dean’s half-lidded eyes, and the breathy noises he made when Cas increased the pressure of his strokes, and then the tiny exasperated gasp when he took his hands away completely. Dean narrowed his eyes with mock anger. “Who’d have thought you were such a tease, Cas.” 

“We need to purge the blood from your system,” Castiel said, in all seriousness, and Dean couldn’t help but laugh. 

“You have no sense of good timing, do you?” 

“I just wanted you to be aware of the situation,” he said, mildly. “You may experience some turbulent reactions.” 

“Turbulent reactions?” Dean sat upright, still straddling Cas’ legs. “You sound like a freakin’ air hostess.” He placed a firm hand on Castiel’s chest, enjoying the feeling of power being in his hands for once. “Look. Cas. It’s not to say I don’t appreciate you wanting me to be forewarned and all that crap, but you’re totally taking me out of the moment, man.” He trailed his hand down Castiel’s chest, dabbling a finger into his belly button and pausing to take in the angel’s reaction, which was pretty gratifying in itself. He traced the fine definition of muscle on Cas’ stomach, and then uttered a mortifying yell of surprise as Castiel suddenly switched their positions entirely, so that he was the one straddling Dean, hands pinning wrists and knees on either side of stomach. 

Cas bent down to kiss Dean, reveling in the sight of him stretched out, lithe and vulnerable below. Sitting upright, he whipped the navy tie from around his neck and deftly bound Dean’s crossed wrists to the horizontal bars at the top of the bed. Dean’s half-hearted protests were swallowed by another kiss, hard this time and drawing blood where Cas’ teeth nipped and pulled at Dean’s lower lip. 

“This is kinky,” Dean said, tugging at the tie. 

“Leave that alone,” Castiel ordered, turning his attention to nipping his way to Dean’s cock. He ran his tongue along it, tasting salt and a hint of something clean. When Cas parted his lips _just so_ and took the head of Dean’s cock into his mouth, sparks of intensity fluttered down his spine and made him shiver with pleasure, echoing back through their blood-link from Dean’s moans. 

It took an embarrassingly short amount of time for Cas to bring Dean to orgasm, but being tied to the bed with an angel of the Lord sucking you off wasn’t exactly something he’d experienced before. The noises that came from his mouth made him feel like a porn star, and even more embarrassingly, the _turbulent reactions_ Cas warned him against completely took him by surprise, as well as the picture frame on the wall, whose glass disappeared as it was flung from its nail by the shock wave that spiraled outwards as Dean’s powers began to dissipate. 

Dean threw back his head and his back arched up off the bed, and all that pent up angel mojo crackled off his skin to dispel into the air. As his orgasm washed over and through him, Dean felt Castiel’s pure surprise and elation as he came himself from the sheer intensity of their link. Dean’s eyes shot open as the room darkened with feathers - his own shadow-wings entangled with Castiel’s, then melted into nothing, but Cas’ stayed put, the edges flaring with sensation until he collapsed on top of Dean, head nestled in the dip of his stomach. His wings, still pure shadow and completely insubstantial, draped over his shoulders, brushed Dean’s skin and covered all of the bed as well as some of the floor. The places where the feather-tips contacted his skin tingled like touching a live battery with your tongue, and Dean shivered, suddenly, as if with the cold. 

“I won’t get any come-down from this, will I?” 

Castiel raised his head and rested his chin on Dean’s stomach. “Come-down?” 

“Mm, you know. Like what drug addicts have when they purge themselves and all that.” 

“I shouldn’t think so.” Cas turned his head and laid his cheek comfortably on Dean’s stomach again. “Just sleep, perhaps?” 

“I didn’t know you actually slept, Cas.” Dean lifted his head and took in the blissful-looking Castiel. “Uh, not to disturb you or anything, but were you planning on leaving me tied up all night?” 

Castiel waved a weary hand and the tie unraveled itself and dropped onto the pile of clothes on the floor. Dean rubbed feeling back into his wrists and reached down to pull Cas up the bed. “You’re almost on the floor down there,” he said, gruffly. “Not gonna put your wings away?” He smiled as he felt Castiel shake his head. “Well, at least we won’t need to get under the covers.” 

Lucifer may have risen, but they couldn’t trace him until they’d pooled their knowledge, and possibly raided Chuck’s house for a handy dose of prophecy, although Dean supposed that they were working off the map now. And with Castiel’s wing draped over his stomach, and the weirdly sexy trenchcoat saving his decency, all he could think of for now was blissful sleep. The Apocalypse could wait until tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for the Renegade Angels Fic Exchange, for Elessae (lj user), who wanted an "Angel!Dean" story. I couldn't get the image of Nero's Devil Trigger from Devil May Cry 4 out of my head, which is the inspiration I took for Dean's shadow-angel.


End file.
